Sometimes, when he pulls her hair, he isn’t violent about it.

It’s a reminder.

It says, “I’m here.”

It’s difficult when you’ve grown so used to submitting to someone and then, suddenly, you’re not. A balance is thrown.

Specifically to that person, there’s still a sort of deference you afford them. There’s something very much “there” that is sometimes difficult to just let lie. Because these things become forces of habit and suddenly your signals are completely crossed.

Generally, it’s just difficult not to have that dynamic. I don’t want to say I’m just hardwired to submit to people, but there is something about it that makes me very happy and feel very secure. Beyond the sexual aspect of it, the psychological level is incredibly powerful. And it’s hard to sit there sometimes and think you’d like to be serving someone but it’s just not happening for you right now.

I’ve noticed quite a few of you lamenting on here recently over a bdsm relationship that just ended and I send my condolences and best wishes. Because I know how it feels. I’m there right now and everything’s just a little off-balance.

There’s a certain way you do your makeup when you’re aware that you are simply applying it to have it disarrayed. There’s a deliberateness to the lipstick that will later crest the curve of your cheek, the mascara that will later run lines down your face. You realize that things must first be built in order for them to be destroyed.

Dear Followers,

Thank you so much for your messages of support, empathy, understanding and your incredibly kind words. It means a lot to me that you’re all so sweet and caring. I feel so privileged.

Last night was a little rough for me. A long-standing little unofficial tradition the thief and I had was broken and it hit me a little hard. It’s strange not to have that feeling of belonging that had become so familiar.

In other news, I gave up alcohol for Lent. So, yeah, let the dry days begin.

<3, Ivy

Submitted by a follower.

read this while looking at the picture or after reading or a little of both

look at the texture of the water, it looks like a pool, now move your eyes to her shoulders, the sun is shining off of them, they’re warm, then move your eyes to her hair, it’s wet, she’s been drying in the sun, notice the sun ray over her head, it’s bright out, it must be shortly after noon, the moments are going by lazily, but time’s passing fast for her and it wont be long before evening, remember doing this, remember how your skin felt after swimming in clean water and drying in the sun on soft fabric or concrete, your skin felt sleeker than usual, imagine how her’s feels, in that exact moment in time, when the camera took that picture, imagine being there next to her, not noticing her, just feeling these things, remembering them, imagining these things, and remember, the eyes only suggest a picture, the brain paints it.

—

Thank you, tastepreferences, for this photograph and your words. I love that feeling you’ve described so well. Though, confessedly, I don’t think I would be able to not notice her were I next to her.

<3, Ivy

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

– Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit.

I’m not big on dirty pictures with too much drooling or too much smeared makeup or too much raw violence or too much leather.

I’ve got a thing for clean lines. I’ve got a thing for light colors. I’m big on the idea of just looking pretty. I’m girly. I’m particular.

There’s a time and a place for the roughness. It’s fun and it’s cathartic. But, if you can make me feel as degraded as I would covered in my own drool – through something a little less obvious, a little less primal, a little more refined – that’s talent.

I think I’d like to take a bath in front of someone one day. I’ve taken showers with people before, but never baths.

But the thing is here that I don’t want to take it so much with you as I do in front of you. I want to be watched, scrutinized. I don’t want to be helped, just sort of monitored.

It’s a barely sexual thing, really. If you touch yourself or shove your cock down my throat, you’ll honestly ruin it. Same with grabbing my hair and riding my face, if you’re of that gender. It’s an appeal to the vague little girly leanings I have sometimes. Maybe.

But I just want you to watch and exercise some restraint. I just want to feel like I’m under glass sometimes. And there’s always time for that other stuff later.

I just want to push her hair back from her face and bite those lips.

He tapes her up that way to ensure she’s available.

But he leaves her that way to ensure she’s patient.